It isn't me

I went to the restroom today: There were paper towels stuffed into the wheelchair toilet.

I had to call and get someone to unclog it. I have to do that a fair bit. The building manager may wonder what on earth I eat, but it isn't me.

Instead, people use the wheelchair stall, clog up the toilet, and don't call it in because, "Hey, people can just use any one of the six other stalls."

Well, except those of us who need to use the wheelchair stall because we are, I don't know, in freaking wheelchairs.